It is raining as you make your way to the Anya Hindmarch show on the last day of London Fashion Week, and let’s face it—maybe you are not in the best possible mood. You’re getting wet, you’re exhausted, and your little head is exploding with everything you’ve seen this week. But once inside, you literally forget your troubles, as Judy Garland, booming in the background, suggests.

The set is composed of what seems like a giant supermarket bar code that slides and glides, and the models, some pushing shopping carts, all in 1960s-ish white shifts, are carrying some of the most amusing bags you’ve seen in a long time (maybe ever): totes decorated with intarsia smiley faces, cereal boxes rendered perfectly in python, even the goofy visage of a friend you haven’t encountered for decades—Tony the Tiger, the face of Frosted Flakes, grinning up from a tote.

If that isn’t enough to bring a smile, a cadre of male modern dancers emerges, followed by pairs of hands that appear from holes in the catwalk—disembodied, but oh so cheerful. Was all this hard to execute? “We had a bit of trouble with the hands!” Hindmarch confesses after the show. Well done, you tell her and she explains that, in fact, that was her intention: “I wanted to do something happy for the end of Fashion Week.”